


Napoleon in Three Acts

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-05
Updated: 2008-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One brother: the one you love above all others. Two brothers: the ones you can never choose between.</p><p>5,400 words. NC-17. Incest, dub-con, three canon character deaths, sex between people aging from 16 to 19. Written for hp_springsmut. March 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Napoleon in Three Acts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to islandsmoke for the beta work.

**act i**   
_(i call you brother, he who wears my face)_

 

"This is bollocks. We look like complete poofs."

"No, _you _look like a poof. I look fucking fabulous."

"No, you don't, Padfoot. You look like a fucking fairy boy in that thing."

"I look _dashing_, you twat, so shut your fucking face. Besides, it doesn't bloody matter what _you_ think; Marlene's going to be wetter than fucking bathwater when she sees me in this."

"I don't know where you got this bloody idea that birds like uniforms. All I know is that birds who like something one day probably won't like that same thing the next, because they completely make it all up as they go along. So, that proves that just as I said before: This? Is stupid."

Sirius tuned him out, turning instead to look himself up and down in the full-length mirror of James's parents' bedroom. The summer air was hot and sticky under the fitted clothing, but Sirius ignored the sweat pooling low on his back and under his arms, and concentrated on smoothing down his jacket and epaulets.

"Prussians," James was moaning, making a face behind Sirius in the mirror. "Sodding _Prussians_. God, my dad is such a fucking traitor, keeping shit like this."

"He's not a traitor," Sirius snapped, "he's a fucking fine collector, is what he is. I can't believe you never told me about these before. We could have worn them to the Solstice ball last year." He turned again in the mirror, admiring the way the grey-brown culottes molded over his thighs and contrasted with the high, black boots.

James sighed dramatically and sagged back against the wall. "Yeah, well, where's his national pride? Should have got one of Wellington's kits, yeah, if he's really so fixed on poncy dead Muggles?"

"Wellington was shit. Your dad's got it right." Sirius flipped the tails of his jacket out and puffed his chest, tilting one hip as he gazed at his reflection. Fucking _fabulous_.

James let his head fall back against the wall, grinning. "Had I known you had such a fetish for uniforms, Padfoot..." he murmured, wetting his lips.

Sirius turned his head towards him at last, eyebrows raised. "What, then? You'd have dressed me up and debauched me much earlier than this?"

"I don't go in for poofs, you know that." James's grin faded, and he glared at Sirius, who only sauntered over to him, leaning one hand on the wall beside James's shoulder and trapping him.

"What did you call me?" he taunted, only half-mocking, his lips already searching for the shell of James's ear.

"I called you a fucking fairy in that uniform," said James, lifting his chin and turning his head away from Sirius's mouth.

The hand not pressing into the wall shot down without warning and grabbed James's crotch, his cock and balls nestled snugly in the culottes and fitting oh so nicely into the palm of Sirius's hand. He squeezed, none too gently. "I said," Sirius growled, "_what did you call me_?"

James sucked in a sharp gasp. "Fairy," he ground out, already pushing his hips up and his groin further into Sirius's grip.

"Say it again." Sirius rotated his thumb.

"_Fuck_."

He dropped his arm from the wall and fell against James's body, lips in his hair. "Say it," he breathed, his fingers curling under James's bollocks and lifting them while his thumb continued to press along the length of James's stiffening prick.

"You look stupid," James panted, groaning loudly as Sirius tore the uniform trousers open and roughly grasped James's dick.

"I look brilliant, Prongs," murmured Sirius, his breath hot on James's neck and his own body throbbing with blood and need. "Tell me how bloody brilliant I look. Tell me how badly you want a fairy poofter to bring you off right now." His grip closed around James's dick and he _pulled_, drawing the skin tight over James's length before releasing it again and starting over.

James laughed, a choked, desperate sort of laugh, grabbing Sirius's hips and hauling him in closer. "Bring me off, then," he whispered, his lips reddened and his voice raw.

"Tell me I look fabulous." Sirius worked his thumb over the head of James's dick and scratched at the slit, a sensation he knew drove James mad with pleasure marred by sparks of pain.

"You look– _God, Jesus, _do that again," moaned James, thrusting into Sirius's hand. "Fabulous, you ponce. You look brilliant in your poncy little uniform." He shuddered, breathing in deeply. "Happy? Now just– _God_. Fuck me already."

But Sirius only laughed, softly and with barely concealed Gryffindor malice, lifting his hand away and moving it over his mouth, inhaling deeply. In the next second he dropped it to his side, turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Oh, fuck you," whinged James, pounding the wall with his fist. "You fucking piece of–"

"Better get changed, Prongs," called Sirius from down the hall. "Don't want your dad to catch us tossing off to his antiques, do you?" He cackled to himself as he pulled the clothing off and headed for the shower before James could catch up with him and demand a rematch.

_I can no longer obey; I have tasted command, and I cannot give it up_.

***

_(i call you brother, he who bleeds my blood)_

 

Regulus was not James, that much Sirius knew, but beyond that, he could never quite pin down what Regulus _was_.

He was Slytherin; that was easy; the enemy, then. He was an inch shorter and had longer fingers. He took Arithmancy instead of Divination, the dumb fuck, even though everyone knew Divination was an easy ride, especially with one flash of that Black smile at the tea leaves. Regulus was the good boy, the good son, the good brother.

Regulus was not James.

Sirius fucking _adored_ him.

"No, no, no, you _can't _be in here," whinged Regulus, glaring over his shoulder and slapping the washcloth wetly against the tiled wall. "You'll get me in trouble again. I told you we'll do it later – somewhere else." He turned away, and Sirius watched through the curtain as the water splashed over Regulus's body, shimmering drops of beauty against the stained, dingy tiles.

"Shouldn't give me the password, then." Sirius flicked his wand at the door to lock it, before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor to soak up the water running out from the shower stall.

A smile quirked at Regulus's lips, but he pushed it away. "Fuck _off_, Sirius," he insisted, but he did nothing to hide his naked body from Sirius's gaze. "My cock looks the same as it did last week, okay?"

"Show me, then." Sirius pushed the rest of his clothing off and slid past the curtain, pinning Regulus against the dirty wall before he could put up a fight.

"You sick fucking cunt," spat Regulus, turning his head to the side and squeezing his eyes closed as Sirius ground up against him, hands and mouth moving freely over Regulus's wet skin. "You really get off on this, then?" He laughed. "Gryffindor's golden boy. Get out of there. You have to– _God_, you have to–"

"Yeah, I do." Sirius slithered down Regulus's body, palms trailing over his chest and belly before settling on either side of Sirius's face and pulling Regulus's thighs open. "Yeah, Reg. Come for me, and I'll leave. Quicker you come, quicker I'm gone."

Regulus moaned, his hands curled into fists at his sides and banging against the wall behind him. "I hate you," he murmured, his voice a breathy gasp.

"Get hard for me, you little slut," whispered Sirius, his mouth moving lightly over Regulus's prick. It swelled at the attention and pushed against Sirius's still-closed lips, harder and more insistent as Sirius's fingers pressed up behind Regulus's balls. "Yeah, that's it. You gorgeous fucking thing."

"It's just a dick," muttered Regulus before groaning again and grabbing a fistful of Sirius's hair. "It's the same as yours, you know. Not really worth the big song and dance here. Oh. _Fuck, God_, okay, just do it like that, if you fucking insist."

"Just a dick," repeated Sirius, smearing the head over his lips and closing his eyes. "Same as mine, _fuck_, yes." He gripped the base and pushed it past his lips, his mouth widening as it took in every inch. This was the best part; it always was: the moment Regulus's protests died on his lips and he gave in to it, thrusting his hips forward and shoving his cock down Sirius's throat as hard as he could. It _was_ a gorgeous cock, as Sirius had recently discovered, and there was nothing quite like the power of reducing his little brother to incoherence like this, blindly fucking Sirius's mouth and moaning his filth, _Fuck yes, God, Sirius, don't stop, don't ever stop_.

He worked his tongue along the underside with thick pressure as his lips glided along the length, the water splashing off his back and Regulus's tensed thighs swimming in and out of focus in front of his eyes.

"Is this a dare, then?" mumbled Regulus, his voice ragged as he fucked his brother's mouth. "Some stupid Gryffindor stunt? I hate you, you know – you and your stupid mouth, your stupid, fucking _mouth_, God, just, yeah, okay, yeah. I'm going to– I'm–"

Sirius sealed his lips tight around Regulus's dick as the first pulses of come filled his mouth, seeping over his tongue in thick, bitter waves and sliding down his throat. He worked his jaw over the convulsions and his fingers over Regulus's bollocks, massaging every last drop out of them as Regulus tightened his hands in Sirius's hair and ground in hard, groaning deeply from his chest. When he was done, Sirius pulled his mouth off and sat back on his heels, letting the cooling water splash over his face and rinse out his mouth. He spat over the drain, a gob of thick, white mucous, and Regulus swatted him on the back of the head.

"Oh, that is _nasty_, you stupid pervert. Real men swallow, I hear." The corners of his lips turned up in a condescending smirk, and Sirius glowered at him as he rose to his feet.

"That what Lestrange tells you?"

"Oh, fuck you." The smirk faded.

Sirius leaned back against the wall and reached for his own dick, thick and aching. "Yeah," he moaned, letting his eyes flutter closed. "That's it. You want to watch, Reg?"

"You are _not_ tossing off in here." Regulus punched him on the arm and yanked the curtain open. "Go back to your own dorm, _brother_." He grabbed a towel from the bench and disappeared from view, and Sirius smiled, lazily working his hand over his cock. All in good time, he decided as his arse clenched and a shudder ran through him. All in good time.

_Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide_.

***

**act ii**   
_(i call you brother, he who lives under my roof)_

 

"Give it here. You don't even know what you're fucking doing."

"Do so. Fuck off."

"Oh, yeah, okay, so you're _supposed_ to inhale from the lit end. Sorry, mate. 'Course you are." James rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed.

Sirius coughed and hit a fist into his chest as he took a drag, and then passed the fag over to James. "Shut up. Regulus does it, and he's bollocks at just about everything, so it can't be hard to figure out."

"Oh, sure, so _now_ it's clear, why you're bothering with this shit." James took the fag anyway, holding it experimentally between his first two fingers and sucking in a deep drag. He held the smoke in his mouth for a solid four seconds before collapsing into a coughing fit, retching and gagging well beyond what Sirius figured was strictly necessary.

"What?" he asked, rolling onto his back beside James. "Birds like it. Makes us more desirable, if we smell like a chimney." He smirked.

"Birds like it, or _Regulus_ likes it?" Sirius turned his head to the side to look at James. "Well!" insisted James. "Bloke's worse than your sodding mother half the time, yet you won't give up on him. _Regulus likes this, so we should probably try it_," he mocked, kicking a leg out at Sirius.

"You're the one I live with now," said Sirius quietly, snatching the fag back from James and holding it in front of his lips. It made perfect sense in his head, which brother he'd chosen. "We do what _you_ like." He inhaled again, lightly this time, and was surprised at the pleasant sweep of smoke through his body, making him want to inhale again rather than cough it out. "Oh, it's good now. Try again." He passed it over.

"We do what _you_ like," said James, his eyes on the quickly-burning cigarette. "Not me, not Regulus."

"Why, James Potter," sang Sirius, "are you ceding authority to me at last?"

Without warning, James climbed on top of him and straddled him, trapping him down on the bed and raising his arms in the air in victory. "Oh captain, my captain," he said with a roll of his eyes, laughing and mashing the fag against Sirius's lips.

Sirius pressed his lips together and whipped his head to the side, knocking the cigarette onto the bed and fighting to get James off him. It was no use; the bastard was infinitely stronger than he looked. James grabbed his wand from the nightstand and extinguished the fag before the bed caught fire, and then he captured Sirius's wrists over his head and ground them into the mattress. He leaned down, rocking his hips against Sirius's.

"I know what you do with him," he breathed, smoky words floating over the side of Sirius's face. "Is he why you left? Not because of your mum like you said, but because of Reg?"

Sirius pushed his arms up against James, but he still couldn't move them. With a sly grin, he rolled his hips instead, and then shook his head. "You know why I left," he murmured.

"It's not right," insisted James, ignoring him even as he pressed his mouth to Sirius's collarbone. "You're _brothers_."

The answer was so obvious, Sirius almost laughed out loud. Instead, he moved his lips to James's ear and bit at the earlobe, tugging it between his teeth until James groaned. "So are we," he whispered when he let go, relishing every second of James's deep, shuddering groan as he understood, finally.

_Victory belongs to the most persevering_.

***

_(i call you brother, he who shares my mother)_

 

"She hasn't mentioned you. You're dead to her, you know." Regulus dropped down to his elbows and pushed back, his hair falling over his face and his lies skimming over his skin. Sirius licked up every drop, his tongue tracing circles and long lines down the curve of his brother's back. "Worst kind of traitor. Oh, Jesus." That last was a gasp, a quick breath, just enough to shut the bastard up.

"Yeah," murmured Sirius, unperturbed, "I imagine. You want to shut the fuck up now?" His tongue moved lower as he crouched down, thumbs pulling Regulus's cheeks apart.

The room was seedy and smelled like disinfectant, but it was the best they could do. Hogwarts didn't have room for them anymore, not for stunts like this, and the Potters' house or Grimmauld Place were equally laughable. Regulus had money, after all. It wasn't like they couldn't afford to pay for a little privacy now and then. Regulus never agreed, of course, not in words, but his eyes would darken and his lips would part and he'd nod, just a tiny bow of his head, following Sirius to the tepid room and the creaking bed, and that was enough for Sirius to declare victory.

Regulus might be a ponce and a git and a traitor to all that Sirius held dear, but he wasn't weak, and that was what Sirius loved most about him. He never did anything he didn't want to do, the spoilt brat, and not many people could say that – not even Sirius.

Sirius moved his mouth down into Regulus's cleft and tongued him open, light, quick licks finally silencing the insults dripping from Regulus's stupid mouth, leaving only shuddering gasps falling from his lips.

"I still hate you," he breathed, his voice shaky, and Sirius doubled his efforts. _No, you don't_, he wanted to say, laughing and kicking him, but instead he only pushed his tongue inside, slow and smooth, licking in small circles until Regulus was trembling underneath him, panting and swearing and insisting with ever more vitriol that _I hate you, I fucking hate you_. Sirius pulled out and wiped his mouth, sitting back on his heels and watching the lines of Regulus's body rise and fall against the mattress with every shivering breath. "That's it?" Regulus turned his head to the side and glared, propping himself up. "You're going to fucking leave me like this?"

"No. Roll over."

Regulus didn't move. "I've seen you, you know," he said with a pout, his bottom lip red and full where it jutted out.

Sirius sighed, running his hands over his thighs and up to caress his dick, aching and neglected. "Can we talk about this later?"

"I've _seen you_ with him," continued Regulus, sitting up and glaring even more intently at Sirius, "with his dick in your mouth or up your arse. For a Black, you are remarkably indiscreet," he sniffed, shifting positions to shove Sirius down on his back and throw a leg over him, straddling him and moving his hands gradually down to trace over Sirius's dick.

Sirius pushed his hips up, groaning. "Yeah? You like the show?" It didn't matter who saw, not to him. He'd never made any promises to either of them, nor they to him, so why Regulus's knickers would be in a twist over it was beyond Sirius.

Regulus pushed himself up on his knees, his prick bobbing over Sirius's stomach as he grasped Sirius's prick and moved it behind him. He issued a warning _tut-tut_ and wagged his finger when Sirius tried to push up into him, murmuring, "Patience, brother," even as he lowered himself down. Sirius groaned at the heat around his cock, inch by inch pushing up into his brother until Regulus sat fully on top of him, grinding in small, sure circles and letting his head fall back. "Do you know what I'm thinking about right now?" he murmured, his lips parted and his eyes closed.

Sirius grasped his hips and thrust up, his head swimming. "Fuck if I care," he muttered, watching Regulus's stomach muscles tense every time his thighs lifted up off Sirius's cock.

"I'm thinking of James Potter riding your cock like this," continued Regulus, ignoring him. "I'm thinking of the two of you, the whores of Gryffindor, pulling each other's dicks behind locked doors and covering each other in come."

Sirius's prick thickened at the very thought, swelling inside Regulus as he imagined James's face in orgasm, James's biceps bracing him on the bed for each thrust, James's dick spurting hot and white over Sirius's chest. "Fuck," he muttered, crushing his fingers into Regulus's skin as he pushed up hard, encouraging Regulus to ride him fast and deep. He obeyed, surprisingly, his hands falling to Sirius's chest as his legs continued to pump.

"I'm not jealous of him, you know," he panted, trying without success to maintain a conversational tone as his face flushed and his damp hair fell into his eyes. "You don't have to choose between us."

"Shut _up_," growled Sirius, grabbing at Regulus's prick and fisting it roughly. "Of course I don't have to fucking choose, you cunt."

Regulus moaned deeply, grinding his hips in a hard, desperate circle over Sirius's cock as Sirius stroked him.

"You're both family, you're both pureblood, and you're both loyal." He felt Regulus's cock begin to pulse, and he closed his eyes. "That's all I ever wanted. Come on, my little king," he whispered, grinning up at Regulus and relishing the way his eyes widened and his mouth turned down. "Come all over me. Make me dirty."

It was too late for Regulus to hold back even if he'd wanted to, and he came over Sirius's stomach with a choked groan. Sirius grabbed his hips again and thrust up, watching the last drops of come pulse from Regulus's dick as he held Regulus firmly against him and shuddered. He felt his dick convulse as Regulus clenched around him, groaning his name and panting deep, trembling breaths.

"Don't call me that," said Regulus after a moment, lifting himself off Sirius with a cruel, abrupt movement and trailing come down both their thighs as he moved.

Sirius snorted. "Why, because if you're the little king, that makes me the big king?"

Regulus dressed with magic, quickly and cleanly, and stood over the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, looking vaguely amused. "No, because I'm the big king, and you're just a useless piece of dust in the universe."

Sirius sat up, mopping the come off his stomach with a corner of the sheets. "I'm the king of the fucking _stars_, you twat."

Regulus approached him, footsteps dry on the sparse carpet and eyes dark with oil. "Just a useless piece of dust," he whispered, each word slow and deliberate, "in the grand scheme of the universe."

_Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake_.

***

**act iii**   
_(i call you brother, he who mourns with me)_

 

When Regulus died on a soggy day in April, Sirius sat on the Potters' front porch for nine straight hours, chain-smoking and watching first the sun and then the stars.

"So, the Prussians, it turns out, were absolute shit at defensive formations," said James, dropping down beside him with a beer in one hand and reaching for Sirius's fag with the other. "Been doing some reading."

Sirius grunted, waiting to get the fag back.

"Yeah." James inhaled deeply, waving his hand around. "Arrogant as all fuck, of course, challenging anyone and everyone to a fight, but when it came right down to it, they'd just as soon sit in the barracks and blow each other than actually win a fucking battle." He paused, handing the cigarette back to Sirius. "You can quote me on that," he added with a grin.

"Well, the world is just _full_ of arrogant fucks who can't win a battle, then, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"And arrogant fucks who'd rather blow each other than try."

"Yep."

"Might as well have sent the French a fucking embroidered invitation then, eh? Waltz right in and take what you want; we'll just be off with our hands on our dicks."

"Yeah." James glanced over at him and smiled sadly. "But my dad was a history buff for all that Muggle shit, and he said once Napoleon set his sights on something, there wasn't anything could be done. Dickhead just sailed right in and took what he wanted."

Sirius hesitated a moment, and then he shook his head. "No. No one can take what isn't given to them," he muttered. "You just got to know how to twist it right, so they think they _want_ you to take it. That's the key to victory."

James said nothing to that, and they sat together in silence, images on a loop in Sirius's mind of Regulus's sickly green tattoo, his pale face and trembling hands, his voice tinged with uncertainty and need as it whispered to him, over and over again, _I hate you, you know, but God, don't stop, don't stop_.

"It's really war, then, is it?" James leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Hasn't been a proper Wizarding war since '45."

"You actually paid attention to Binns?"

James laughed. "Yeah, guess so." He paused. "Are you going to fight now?" he asked quietly, turning the bottle around and around in his hands, condensation dripping over his fingers.

Sirius glanced over at him and thought of Peter, who was too weak to fight, and Remus, who was too strong. He and James, well, they were just right, weren't they? Always had been. "Don't know," he said solemnly, nudging James's shoulder. "You still got the uniforms?"

James blinked at him for a moment before grinning. "Yeah. I reckon dad's still got 'em downstairs somewhere."

"Well, that settles that, then." Sirius mashed the fag into the tangled wood at his feet and reached for another one. "We'd better fight."

The Potters' street stretched before them, long and lonely and edged with the parked cars of the Muggle neighbourhood. Sirius pondered the darkness, and the way the street lamps failed to illuminate much of anything at all, apart from a pair of drunks down near Chester Avenue and a lonely swing set over in the park. The drunks kept drinking, and the swing kept swinging, and the lamps stayed lit even though Regulus was dead. It seemed impossible. Sirius hadn't touched James since Lily had come around, and he hadn't _stopped_ touching Regulus until the week before he died.

That, too, seemed impossible.

"Yeah," James was saying, draining his beer and staring out at the night. "We'd better." He glanced sideways at Sirius. "Have you got any fucking clue _how_?"

Sirius might have laughed, but it wasn't funny, not at all, not least because he _didn't_ know how, and James didn't know how, and Regulus – stupid, gorgeous Regulus – had had even less of a clue than anyone.

_The first virtue in a soldier is endurance of fatigue; courage is only the second virtue_.

***

_(i call you brother, he who trusts me over all other things)_

 

"Oh, brilliant, Padfoot. You're a poofter, a little fairy boy, _and_ a coward as well, then, eh?"

"Nice. Yeah. That's real nice, Prongs. You're a mate."

"You want to tell me _why_ in bleeding fucking hell you can't be my Secret-Keeper?"

"I was getting to that part, if you'd shut your fucking face for two seconds."

"Fine. Let's hear it, then." James folded his arms across his chest and glared, an anger Sirius had never quite seen before flashing behind his eyes. He was scared, that was all. They all were.

"_Strategy_, dickhead. You're on the defensive, so you've got to think like a Prussian."

"What?" James threw his hands up. "Not that shit again. _Really?_ That's what you've got? Those sodding uniforms from a hundred years ago?" He stormed around the kitchen, slamming cupboards open and shut before he found where Lily had hidden the beer. "You're a fucking nightmare, you know that?"

"You fucking _loved_ the uniform, so fuck you, and also, it's not the uniform, you dumb twat, it's the _principle_."

James flung his bottle cap to the counter and whirled around. "And what's the fucking _principle_, then, General?"

"Think like the enemy." Sirius ignored the taunt and moved closer to James, holding his gaze and shoving a hand over his chest to pin him against the counter. "The enemy wants you dead, and the quickest, easiest way to get to you is to go through me. Everyone knows that."

A flash of alarm crossed James's face that had nothing to do with the mention of the word _dead_, and he glanced at the kitchen door. "Everyone knows what?" he bit out.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that you used to worship my dick back at school. That's not what I meant." He sighed. It might have been what he meant, a little bit, but James wouldn't talk about that now, so there wasn't any point in pushing for it. "Everyone knows that _I'm_ the one you'd tell."

"I have more friends than just you," James said petulantly. "They wouldn't know."

Anger surged in Sirius's veins, and he grabbed a fistful of James's shirt, throwing him hard into the counter. "_Friends_?" he hissed, his eyes wide. "I'm your fucking _brother_, and you know it. Friends don't die for you."

"Oh, but Regulus died for _you_?"

Sirius felt his gut churn and his hand crack where it tightened in James's shirt. "Regulus died for himself," he spat. "Regulus wouldn't have known fucking _loyalty_ if it bit him in the arse." A wave of grief crashed over him, and he dropped his head to James's shoulder, loosening his grip. James's arms came around him immediately, his fingers rough over the back of Sirius's neck. "I'm not a coward," he murmured, breathing in James's scent and pushing down the old feelings. "I'd die for you a thousand times over if I had to; you fucking know that."

"Yeah," said James, holding him a moment longer before gently pushing him away, smoothing his hand over Sirius's chest. He sighed and scratched at his jaw. "I know."

They watched each other in mournful silence for a long time, memories of a time long past tumbling through Sirius's head: the way James looked first thing in the morning, hair standing straight up and pyjama bottoms predictably tented; the way Regulus would never come down for breakfast unless every hair on his head was completely dry and coiffed; the way James hurled invective at Quidditch referees that included such creative merging of foul words that McGonagall could never quite be sure whether it warranted detention or a scholarship; the way Regulus liked to stand outside at night, breathing in air that had never known sunlight and claiming it was purer for it.

"Hey, General?" said James at last, breaking the silence and forcing a smile.

Sirius waited. "Yeah?"

"I'd die for you, too, you know," he said quietly. "You'd be worth it."

_Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily_.

***

**act iv**   
_(an unscheduled coda, sculpted from black dust)_

 

It wasn't anywhere specific, or, at least, nowhere that Sirius could pinpoint. It was more like a mishmash of places: Hogwarts on one side of the long road; Hogsmeade on the other. There was Marlene, down by the Broomsticks with a glass of something pink and fizzy – he'd have to remember to meet up with her later. Gideon and Fabian clapped him on the back and shouted greetings as they rushed by, broomsticks in hand, and Sirius glanced up to see a Quidditch pitch appear in the sky.

Azkaban was nowhere to be seen, he noticed with relief. Thank fuck for that.

A bit further down the lane, he encountered the Potters' house, and he kicked a stone casually across the front porch as he wandered by. There was a school corridor, too, and a small, cramped room with brown furniture and the outline of two tangled, sweaty bodies thrusting against each other on the bed. His mouth fell open as the memories soared back into his consciousness, and he broke into a run.

When he reached the end of the lane, he stopped, panting, and leaned over to put his hands on his knees and catch his breath.

_I am alone. I need no one. I am exiled_.

He looked up to see James and Regulus standing before him, several metres away – James looking tousled and well-fed and grinning at him; Regulus stoic and blank, his face pale and his hands clasped. They were mirror images, inverted and spun backwards, and Sirius resisted the urge to fall to his knees before them. Fealty was owed in only one direction, he decided.

_(i call you brother, he who died on my battlefield)_

He walked forward, reaching out to touch them. He moved towards James first, pushing his fingers through thick black hair and sweeping his thumb over James's cheek, and in the next moment he heard a deep groan as James dropped to his knees. Satisfied, he moved next to Regulus and lightly grasped his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it towards him. He kissed him softly on the mouth, pulling back to see Regulus's red lips parted and to hear a short gasp escape them. He too fell to his knees, clasping his hands behind his back.

_I am emperor_, he whispered to them, and they dutifully bowed their heads, no longer able to allow their own desires to cancel his. _You shall fight with me, and we shall not be defeated_.

 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tarie at the 2008 hp_springsmut exchange, who wanted these two pairings with uniforms, banter, angst, a bit of 'ghostly afterlife stuff' and a hopeful ending. She did not ask for the 19th century military metaphors, per se, but Sirius insisted on them when he saw the 'uniforms' request. :)
> 
> Gratuitous use of Napoleon quotes at the end of each section:  
> _I can no longer obey; I have tasted command, and I cannot give it up.  
> Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide.  
> Victory belongs to the most persevering.  
> Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.  
> The first virtue in a soldier is endurance of fatigue; courage is only the second virtue.  
> Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily_.


End file.
